If you a journey have to go,
And they make no delay,
'Tis ten to one you're serv'd like _curds_,
They _spill you on the_ WHEY.

A short time since my wife and I
A short call had to make,
And giving me a _kiss_, she said--
"A _buss_ you'd better take!"
We journey'd on--two lively cads,
Were for our custom triers;
And in a twinkling we were fix'd
Fast by this _pair of pliers_!

My wife's arm I had lock'd in mine,
But soon they forced her from it;
And she was lugg'd into the _Sun_,
And I into the _Comet_!
Jamm'd to a jelly, there I sat,
Each one against me pushing;
And my poor gouty legs seem'd made
For each one's _pins--a cushion_!

My wife some time had gone before:
I urged the jarvey's speed,
When all at once the bus set off
At fearful pace, indeed!
I ask'd the coachee what caused this?
When thus his story ran:--
"Vy, _a man shied at an oss_, and so